


The End of Infinity (With You)

by Marshmallows



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmallows/pseuds/Marshmallows
Summary: "Whatever happens... as long as we have each other... no matter what... we're gonna make it..."A million and one ways the atoms in the universe could have formed; yet in this world of a million and one possibilities, the star falls for the sun.





	The End of Infinity (With You)

**Author's Note:**

> Everything’s the same, but Lancelot and Vane are soulmates (Lancelot/Vane, Lancelot-centric; mentions of Lancelot/Siegfried, Vane/Sophia).
>
>> _I'm done with having dreams_   
>  _The thing that I believe_   
>  _You drain all the fear from me_

Lancelot and Vane have had their marks since before they could remember.

They hadn’t particularly understood the meaning of them, not at the age they were at. Adults always gushed about their worlds bursting into colour once they met their fated half; but surely, they meant that in a metaphorical sense. After all, Lancelot and Vane had always seen their lives in a flood of azure and gold: Vane’s crown and Lancelot’s bright eyes the first things they’d see some days. They were simply neighbours who spent every hour of every day with one another, growing from child to teen with all those awkward stages in between. 

As they lived their lives day by day, their marks merely existed, like birthmarks that decorated their skin. In Vane’s case, it was almost exactly that: Lancelot present shortly after his birth, gawking at this strange tiny human, and that’s when it happened. The faintest of lines appeared on their wrists, a ring etched into skin, a constant reminder written on their bodies that they belonged together in some way or another. Silver in the sunlight, grey on cloudy days, yet always right across their veins, over their pulses, connected to their hearts. They liked linking them up whenever they held hands, to keep each other from becoming lost. 

One day, in the woods near their village, Vane reached for Lancelot’s hand. Countless warnings hounded in their ears, but children were children, and curiosity compelled their feet. Now, the trees had blotted out the sky and home could no longer be seen, and Lancelot and Vane were lost, all alone together. The realisation had sunk into Vane like a stone, his shoulders shaking with sobs that formed sounds that were half sorry, half despair. But Lancelot was by his side, wiping away tear after tear, and holding him tight. 

“I’m here. I’ll always protect you,” Lancelot said soft against his hair, slow and steady, like the whisper of the waves against the shore. 

The sun was going down, and soon, they would no longer be able to see. Vane was calming down into hiccups, face crumbled into wrinkles, but Lancelot was soothing, rubbing circles into his back.

“This is all my fault, Lan-chan…” Vane mumbled, when he was finally able to speak, “I’m really sorry for making you worry…”

“You don’t have to apologise… I worry about you, simply because it’s you. When you’re sad… I’m sad too,” Lancelot said quietly, as he wiped the residue of the tears off his cheeks.

“Then… Then… I’ll always be happy! Because I want Lan-chan to always be happy too!” Vane declared, balling his little hands into little fists.

Lancelot giggled, “But when you do get sad, you know you can always come to me, right?”

Vane nodded, and a promise was made. The next day, they made it back home, Vane’s hand tight in Lancelot’s. 

He never did quite understand why Lancelot was his friend in particular, not when he was so popular and cool and all those wonderful things. Vane couldn’t see that he was special too; Lancelot drawn to the pure sincerity in his heart. To everyone in their village, it was no secret that they adored one another. Wherever Lancelot went, Vane was his shadow. Vane would happily follow him to the ends of the skies if he was asked; his dedication a precursor to what was to come in Lancelot’s future. They’d do everything together. ‘Soulmates’ was merely a word to mean that they’d be together forever. 

Two years his elder, Lancelot had always led the charge. He had always been a prodigy: diligent and steadfast. Much too clever for a child of his age, he saw past trickery to land right into his own sorts of trouble, leaving behind a tide of outwitted adults in his young wake. He was a simple village boy, but it was already clear to everyone else that this village was much too small for him. 

Then, as sudden as a clap of thunder, Vane was an orphan, his parents killed by monsters. Vane hardly reminisced on this stage in his life, but Lancelot would always remember the root of his drive. He had been powerless to prevent the despair on his face, and as he watched his small frame shake at a funeral that had happened much too soon, he swore he would never again let anyone else fall into such depths. 

Lancelot made his pledge for the rest of his life. He’d become a knight for Vane, to protect others from falling into the same fate; as Vane would become a knight for Lancelot, to protect his back when he was busy protecting others. 

Together, Lancelot and Vane declared they would become knights, on their own if they had to. Even when his swordsmaster abandoned him, Lancelot’s natural ambition and genius nurtured self sufficiency. Every dawning of a new year, he’d scream on that hill overlooking his village, with all the air and determination in his lungs, that he’d become a superior knight. It was less of a wish and more of a want, because Lancelot refused to believe his life was set in stone from the start. He’d grow from village boy to captain, no matter what.

* * *

His tenacity was rewarded. The defeat of his own swordmaster brewed rumours of a prodigy in a far off village. Raised from books and the scars of trial and error, Lancelot and Vane were swept to the capital on the blessings of a recommendation. 

It was where he met him. Siegfried: the legend, the captain, the Dragonslayer. He was everything he wanted to be, the embodiment of a dream; and when he caught his attention, Lancelot couldn’t believe that this had become his reality. Days spent with Siegfried seemed almost unreal, days spent pushing his body past bruises and aches, days spent in gauntlets that covered his mark. 

For once in their lives, Lancelot and Vane were separated. As Lancelot chased his dreams, Vane the shadow began to fade into nothing. They saw each other as glimpses of faces, a passing hello and goodbye; and then, they had to go. They’d reflect on simpler times given the chance to talk, their visages a mirror back to the past. Lancelot was vice captain now, and Vane but a solider; but to each other, they were still little Lancelot and Vane, hailing from a village far from the capital, still playing with twigs in forests and fields. Even as they matured, they’d see each other when their faces were rounder, their voices higher, their young minds lapsing into nostalgia despite their bright futures. 

With their lives on separate courses and without each other, Lancelot spent every moment of every day with Siegfried. At first, Siegfried was hesitant, their ages and roles a barrier. He was his mentor; no more, no less. Alas, as Lancelot was forged from iron to steel, Siegfried knew he was growing fond of more than just his potential. The steps from professional to personal were awkward at first, made no better by the enigma that Siegfried cloaked himself in. To some, he was a hero; to himself, he was merely doing his duty. He was comfortable in shadows, but to Lancelot, he was his lighthouse. 

They spent nights together under the stars, toiling and growing together, to spending days together reading and talking of anything and everything. Siegfried had simply been a man who had slew a dragon and earned the king’s favour. He was like Lancelot, an outsider who knew nothing of courts and etiquette; the opposite of Percival, a Prince of Wales, Emperor of Flames, and the other vice captain, in all his upbringing. From barely knowing how to make conversation, Siegfried emerged out of his reclusive shell, speaking of life and chivalry as if it were finally natural. Slowly, but surely, it seemed that Siegfried was adapting to the light.

Things ended in an instant. The king was found dead in Siegfried’s arms. His idol, his mentor, his hope: betrayed. The pedestal that held Siegfried aloft crumbled the day he fled: a silent affirmation that he had wrought wrong upon his land and everything Lancelot believed in was actually false. Without their guiding light, the fire in both vice captains was extinguished. Words they had once held close to their hearts: duty and loyalty and chivalry, were now meaningless, and thus, their ideals clashed. Percival deserted not long after, in search for new meaning, a gash left weeping in the shield that was meant to defend Feendrache. 

As the only one left, Lancelot became captain. 

His dream: a result of chaos, at the cost of his innocence. 

As the clock ticked on without the promise of sleep, Lancelot found his eyes lingering on his mark, the despair in his future fuelling the return to his past. It shone a ghostly silver as it caught the moonlight peeking through his windows, a stark contrast to the gentle glow of gold he was so used to seeing. Alas, the warmth of Siegfried’s eyes were nothing but a cursed memory now. He had thought so many things about him, but ‘traitor’ had never been on his lips. Lancelot would have been the first to defend him – if only he had stayed, if only he had proven his innocence. Lancelot closed his heavy, tired eyes. 

Plunged in the depths of his memories, he knew this mark had always belonged to another golden hue, yet it was a man he seldom saw, even now. As his nights dragged on into the depths of midnight blue, he missed those simple days of sunshine gold. Alas, what mark could be a replacement for his hearty laughter and his shoulder to lean on. Vane was away, as he often was these days. Letters took time to send and receive, and this mark was only a promise that Vane would not leave him too. As captain and soldier, they were ranks apart, distances apart. He saw him even less than those bygone days, only to tell him hello and goodbye at the port. 

For five years, he worked himself to the bone, to fill the hole that Siegfried left, to pick up his fallen pieces scattered across the board and transform the knights from black to white. 

It was when Siegfried returned that he discovered it was all a farce. Isabella had fully intended for the knights to become her puppets, and he, in all his naivety, had believed all her sweetness. The world he believed in shattered once more. Lancelot was no more a captain than a doll to be played with. He had trusted both of them, believed their loyalty to the crown– and when forced to pick between them, Lancelot froze.

It was then that Vane roared as loud as a lion, “Even if it means being labelled as a traitor by everyone, then so be it! I'll always be your friend!" and finally Lancelot felt free to move; reminded that in this world, there was at least one person that would believe in him, no matter what. Together, he felt able to believe again in the man who he had thought betrayed him, and together, they brought Isabella to justice.

Siegfried left again before Lancelot had even welcomed him home. He wondered why he never came back, why he never stayed. Five years consumed by hate and bitterness, five years he had lost to lies upon lies. He hadn’t said anything in those five years of silence, not until a stranger had intervened. Alas, that was another story, and this was his. Lancelot looked at his hands that could have been so easily stained in his mentor’s blood. Then: his wrist, his mark that matched the man who had kept him grounded. 

Lancelot paused.

Meanwhile, Vane had led his own life. Without Lancelot there to greet him at the port, Vane had chanced upon skyfarers, including a woman who shared his kindness. Funny how two that were lost had found each other along the way. 

“Do you think you can stay?” Vane asked, anticipation in his voice. 

Alas, she had to leave. 

Sophia was still a priestess after all, and though she had been temporarily blinded from her destination, she knew she had to set back onto her course. Lancelot didn’t blame her, not after he had lost himself to Siegfried. 

They spent all of the time they had left together. Excitedly, Vane showed her around the capital that she had almost given up her pilgrimage for. She was almost as impulsive as Vane, never one to leave a troubled stranger behind, and swayed just as easily. They made a good match.

Lancelot left them be, strange as it was having to rescue the pair when they got lost. He was merely on patrol, he said; but still, it was odd to see them laugh and joke together when they still barely knew one another. To think this boy used to hide behind his grandmother’s skirts, to see him now bloom as bright as sunflowers. 

He watched Vane hug her goodbye, all the promises to keep in contact, and the slumped shoulders after. Even at a distance, he could see him haunted by the thoughts of what could have been in another life. 

Behind his back, Lancelot’s thumb rubbed against his mark. He wondered of all the people that Vane had loved when he wasn’t there. Lancelot knew better than any other that his heart of gold was too big not to be shared. He had always seen how he soothed people’s hearts, lifted their spirits with simply a smile, made it his mission to be kind and thoughtful. He had seen it all in the way he adored him in particular: the knowledge of his tastes, the remembrance of his habits. 

Vane had always been like that.

It wasn’t long until Vane had to leave on another expedition. At the port, akin to their normal ritual, Lancelot bid him goodbye and they promised to see one another again. He was but a soldier, and he was his captain. 

“Hey, I may not be important, but every second I spend with you is,” Vane grinned, not a beat out of step. 

“Don’t talk like that,” Lancelot said, his mouth a thin line as he nudged against him. As their bodies settled against one another, and in the comfort of his warmth, Lancelot said softly, a hint of pink in his cheeks, a whisper in the wind, “You’re important to me.”

It was Lancelot who told him to become something more. Vane hid behind a mask of jokes, but Lancelot could see the barbs of disbelief that poisoned his confidence. After knowing each other all their lives, Lancelot knew how he shined, precious as a diamond in the rough. Vane erred; Lancelot encouraged. He was stronger than he realised. 

He passed with flying colours. Vane was now vice captain, and they spent days side by side like simpler times, when they only knew loyalty to each other and not to the entire kingdom, before responsibility and duty and all the dangers fraught with it. Yet, Lancelot and Vane were no longer little. They were adults now, twenty seven and twenty five, and he was no longer alone to shoulder the burdens of a country. Together, they’d rebuild their fallen kingdom. 

Lancelot watched as he treasured his subordinates. He’d remember their names, their birthdays, their spouses’ birthdays, and yet it was always a shock to himself to hear of the love he inspired in his men. From everyone in the Order to the townsfolk he protected, Vane greeted all with a smile on his face – and yet, despite all the work and responsibility he now held, there was something, deep and selfish and primal, that gnawed at Lancelot in the back of his head. 

He was the one who needed him the most. 

It was when Vane was gone that Lancelot fell. Impatient to rejoin Vane on the battlefield, Lancelot was captured, blind sided by Isabella once more. Alone in that dungeon, where he had nothing but time and dread, he thought of Vane and the laughter they had shared. His hands were bound and he could no longer see his mark, but Vane remained in his memories as a comfort in the cold and the dark. 

One night – or day, he could no longer tell – he dreamed of a young boy crying, small and lost and all alone. The need to be at his side – to protect him, to ensure his happiness, to simply be with _him_ – coursed through his entire being, and then he awoke. 

“‘I’ll always be happy’…” His words ghosted on his lips, and the memory of his smile made him miss him so much more. 

They would meet again, Lancelot delirious with weakness, Vane frantic with worry. Battered and bruised, they pushed themselves beyond their limits. They needed to know if the other was safe. 

When Lancelot finally awoke in the safety of a bed, his eyes drifted from the mark on his wrist, chafed red from his chains, to the man with the same mark, holding his hand tight. 

“This is all my fault, Lan-chan…” Vane said quietly, heavy with the guilt that he had not been there to save him. 

“I’m here. I’ll always protect you,” Lancelot said soft against the air, an answer to nothing in particular, except to affirm this constant in this exhausting chain of events. 

“And what will that do?” Percival protested against the sentimentality of it all. Alongside Vane, Percival had returned, his fire now reignited with new vassals in tow. 

“You don't understand Lan-chan's feelings at all!” Vane barked at his tactlessness, finally baring his fangs when Lancelot was attacked. 

“Say what you will about me, but I won't have anything bad said about Vane,” Lancelot’s voice like ice, no longer hanging his head at his own powerlessness when Vane was involved. 

They clashed against each other: passion versus reason. Scathing with his blunt rationality, Percival prohibited their self destructive recklessness, incinerated their idealistic chivalry in all his criticism, and Lancelot was left clinging to the scraps of his dignity. He knew he was right, he knew he was naive, and yet that did nothing to cool the burns of his flames. 

It took Vane to snap him out of his gloom, just as he always had. Lancelot was left questioning himself, but Vane, always there, listened to his woes. He was lost without his reason, but Vane always listened to his heart, just like they had always done, since they were children, since they were little. Feeling so much lighter, laughter finally brightening his face, Lancelot said with all the sincerity in his heart, “I feel a burden being lifted thanks to you.”

They had always been able to read each other, as if their thoughts were as visible to each other as the marks on their wrists. Vane didn’t think he had said anything smart to warrant the praise, but Vane was his rock like that: steady and constant.

* * *

He doesn’t remember when it first started, but he knew he had always been fond. The pink of his cheeks at the sight of his smile, the desire to simply be by his side, the wish in his heart as his lips grazed his mark. 

Since days lost in the woods as children, Vane never seemed to realise just how much his presence alone drained all the fear in his heart. How many hurdles had they conquered, how many goals had they achieved, how many memories had they made. 

The realisation that his life had always shimmered gold, erupted like a burst of colour, like the fireworks they had seen that summer at the beach: bright and blooming and full of delight. 

He finally knew what it meant. 

To have happiness envelope him like water, calm and nourishing all at once; yet still, he was in suspense, as it threatened to drown him in all his desire, unable to fight against the tide of the ocean, at risk of being swept away in all its nature. 

He had defeated armies, slew monsters, fought against otherworldly beings; and yet, it was that one phrase that utterly paralysed him, the thought of rejection from one man that stilled his hand. ‘Soulmates’ was a word, in the back of his head, devoid of meaning. His mark merely sat there, pretty on his wrist. For all the fear he swept away, now it was another that bound his lips, to ask if his love was the same as his. As hopeless as a star in love with the sun, when asking if he wanted to become a collapsing star with him would risk all that existed of his universe. 

One day, stranded on Mount Kirchberg, Lancelot reached for Vane’s hand. Their lives on a thread, Lancelot’s injured leg making him a burden, Lancelot yearned for Vane to live. It had been a miracle they had survived that fall, it would take tenacity to ensure they survived the nights. Dwindling on supplies as the rainfall threatened to drown out the world outside, Lancelot already had his answer when it came down to the two of them. 

His fear: “Don’t die before I do.”

It was then that Vane made a declaration to never abandon him. Lancelot winced as the thought of Vane dying shot right through his heart. 

His resolve: “I’d rather die with you than survive alone.”

If it was tenacity they needed, then Vane would bring exactly that, his soul the definition of determination. He held back onto Lancelot’s hand, to maintain his belief, to soothe his heart, to reassure him that he was always here. 

It was then that Lancelot realised he wasn’t the first to understand what this mark meant.

The next day, they made it back home, Lancelot’s hand tight in Vane’s. 

Vane was again at his side when he awoke this time. He remembered his leg, the cave, being carried. Vane was exhausted, hand holding his, even whilst asleep. He had seen his sleeping face too many times to count, a privilege of being his most trusted partner. They were alone together, as they always ended up being. 

The room was silent as Lancelot shuffled up to sit. Without another word, Lancelot bowed his body towards Vane and delicately, he touched his crown of gold. He stared at his hand atop his hair, the mark upon his wrist. 

He wondered what he had done to deserve such devotion. 

One evening, not long after, Vane finally questioned the storm brewing behind Lancelot’s face. 

“Vane… You’ve always managed to see right through me…” Lancelot let loose a small breath, the beginning of the end, “I’ve been thinking… About our marks, that is…” 

Vane stared at him, “The soulmates thing?” 

“Yes,” Lancelot nodded, and wrung his hands together, “I’ve been thinking about them for a long time now,” When Vane didn’t answer immediately, out rushed the flood that plagued his mind, before he could even stop the tide, “We’ve lived our entire lives with them, and yet, we’ve never questioned exactly what they mean. What exactly are ‘soulmates’? Is it fate? Is it predetermined? We’ve always been together, but what if it was only because of the mark?”

Immediately, Vane grasped his hand, and anchored him down. 

“I don’t get it! I don’t get it at all!” Vane shouted, his voice at breaking point, “There’s so many things in this world that I don’t get, but why should I let that get in the way of anything? When I’m happy with you? When I care about you? When it’s the only thing I’ve ever known with you?”

Vane, who he had always known, always cared for, always lo– 

Vane pulled him forward, out of his thoughts, into his arms.

The scent of sunshine and all its warmth enveloped Lancelot as soon as he hit his chest, and it took a few moments before Lancelot had grasped the fact that Vane was holding him tight. 

“Lan-chan…” Vane’s face twisted, a combination of all the hurt and pain if only he had known, “You’ve always worked hard. You’ve always done your best. You’ve done so much. Yet you’ve always kept trying. There are so many things I want to say, but the one thing I know for sure is that I’ll always be with you, no matter what.”

Lancelot, still in his arms, grasped Vane’s back tight. 

“Vane,” All in his name: his partner, his friend, the man he felt safest with. 

“Lan-chan,” That nickname he persisted with, that declared to the world all the affection in his heart. 

He was home, where he felt safe. Before Lancelot had even given it a name, the meaning of the mark had already taken root. The fondness in his heart, the call of his name in the timber of his voice. 

He closed his eyes, and let Vane’s presence wash over him. 

“You’ve been with me, no matter what. When I almost died in that dungeon. When we almost died on that mountain.”

Vane nodded, a promise he remembered.

“Because we’re soulmates?”

“Because you're Lancelot.”

Vane who had always treated him the same, had always been like this. It had always been constant, like a river that nourished their lives. 

All Lancelot could do was burst into laughter, at himself, at the world, “Was it that simple?”

“Maybe,” Vane shrugged, “I don’t have a clear cut answer. But maybe, we can find it together.”

Vane released his hold in order to look at him, but the warmth from his embrace lingered in the smile upon his face. 

“When you get sad, you can come to me,” Vane said, and Lancelot recalled, “Whatever’s on your mind, I’ll listen. Just as you’ve always done for me.”

With all the tenderness in his heart, Lancelot said, “You’ve always been kind, Vane.”

“Someone took care of me all these years,” Vane said, his eyes softening as he looked at Lancelot. 

“For the rest of my years,” Lancelot weaved his fingers through Vane’s, and he held on tight, “I’d like you to take care of me.”

“No matter what,” Vane said, squeezing his hand, “I’ll be here for you. Even if the whole world turns against us.”

The mark had always been shorthand for the warmth in their memories, the hope in their future, the scars that mapped their lives. From when they met to where they’d go, the mark was Vane and the embodiment of love.


End file.
